


Gotta Gotta Be Down ('Cause I Want It All)

by Frea_O



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Painkillers, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 11:10:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frea_O/pseuds/Frea_O
Summary: After Felicity gets stabbed, Laurel takes her home. Painkillers and Felicity’s mouth, that’s a match made in a very scary part of heaven.





	Gotta Gotta Be Down ('Cause I Want It All)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! More from the Great Tumblrpocalypse Archiving of 2018!

“You smell fantastic. Did I know that before? Did I know you smell fantastic? This seems important.”

At some point in the space between her car and her front door, walking has become like running a three-legged race with a drunken college mascot. Laurel soldiers on, one hand clutching the bag collected from the pharmacy, and the other wrapped around the torso of her best friend. Her best friend who is currently plastered against Laurel’s side, her nose shoved into the space between Laurel’s ear and her shoulder.

Apparently Felicity Smoak is a lightweight and a babbler, though the latter’s not an unknown quantity.

“No, really,” she says, still talking into Laurel’s neck, “you smell amazing. Ah- _maze_ -ing.”

“You’re beginning to sound a bit like a vampire, for the record.” Laurel shifts her grip, mindful of the bandage running up Felicity’s side that she’ll need to change in a few hours. A couple inches deeper and tonight’s story would be a lot more tragic. “And what smells amazing to you smells like hospital to me.”

“No, it’s like jasmine or something. Better than jasmine.” Felicity sniffs again and tries to lean away, but her head only flops. “Ugh, hospitals.”

“Hospitals are good places that make us feel better when we step in front of people and take hits meant for them even though they’re wearing body armor and you’re not,” Laurel says.

“Laurel Dinah Lance,” Felicity says, and Laurel doesn’t tell her it’s the other way around. “I may be high as a ki-i-i-i-ite—” She flings her head back. “—but don’t think that I can’t hear that judgment in your voice. Judgy-judge-judge. You’re a lawyer, not a judge, maybe you should lawyer at me. What do lawyers do, anyway? What does it actually mean to ‘lawyer?’ Is that even a whatsit—a verb? Is that even a verb?”

Laurel fights a smile as she tries to keep her hold on the pharmacy bag and dig in her purse for her keys at the same time. She’s hoping to get out of the hallway before Simon the Nosy peeks out his front door. In her current state, she has no idea what Felicity will say, but it’s hard enough to be a vigilante with Simon around as it is. If she can just get Felicity inside—

No luck. The door swings open; Felicity’s head swivels on her neck and drops forward, unbalancing her enough that Laurel has to shift her stance or risk both of them toppling.

“Is she okay?” Simon asks, squinting at the both of them.

He’s about twenty years too young to be the stereotypical eavesdropping neighbor, and he’s wearing yet another in an endless line of gray beanie hats. Laurel can feel Felicity gawking at him like she’s not sure he’s not some weird hipster hallucination her drugs have called up. “She’ll be fine. There was a car accident,” she says.

“Um. Shouldn’t she be in the hospital? I mean…”

“We were just there.” Laurel holds up the pharmacy bag. “Didn’t need to stay overnight, even, and we’ve got the good drugs. We’re good, thanks.”

“You have weird hair,” Felicity says to Simon.

Simon blinks at her. “Is your other girlfriend okay with this?” he asks Laurel.

Felicity gasps and looks at Laurel, her pupils so big that there’s only a sliver of blue in her eyes. “Oh my god,” she says, drawing the word out. “You have a girlfriend and you never told any of us? What kind of teammate are you?”

“Teammate?” Simon asks.

Time to bail on this conversation, Laurel decides. She gives Simon her politest fuck off smile, finally locates her keys, and shoves the proper one into the lock without looking. “Softball teammates,” she says. “League champions, in fact. Good night, Simon.”

And she hauls Felicity inside before Simon can continue the interrogation, muttering under her breath about neighbors who need to learn to mind their own damn business. She immediately drops her purse on the table by the foyer, and the meds with it, which gives her both hands to help Felicity out.

“I can’t believe it,” Felicity says, scrunching her eyes closed. “A secret girlfriend. You have a girlfriend. I want to meet her. A best friend should get to meet the girlfriend.”

“He’s talking about Thea.”

“You’re dating Thea? She never said a thing!”

“No, she was my roommate, remember? He’s a nosy asshole who can’t seem to get the point.” Since Felicity’s beginning to list in the non-existent wind of her foyer, Laurel decides to make matters easier and scoops her up, bridal-carry style. Felicity gasps once again, and for a second, Laurel’s worried she’s opened the stitches. But Felicity swoons, pressing the back of her fingers to her forehead like an old Hollywood actress, and it’s cute. “Sorry. This way’s faster.”

“Carrying me over the threshold,” Felicity says, letting her head fall back and flinging out her arm. She needs to stop doing that, but Laurel’s hoping that once she gets her to Thea’s old bed, Felicity will conk right out. “Why, I do declare. This is rather forward of you, Miss Lance.”

“I carry all my friends into my home this way,” Laurel says.

Felicity looks at her ponderously. “Even Diggle?”

“Especially Diggle.”

Felicity makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a giggle. They’re the same height, so it’s not the easiest thing in the world to carry her, but luckily the room isn’t far, and Laurel’s been working out. They both smell like hospital and antiseptic, but at least Felicity’s no longer ice cold, the way she was when Laurel and Oliver rushed her to the hospital earlier. She grumbles and clings tightly when Laurel tries to set her on the edge of the bed.

Laurel has to laugh. “Felicity, what are you doing? You need to let go.”

“You smell good.”

“And you need to rest. You got stabbed tonight, remember?”

“That part’s less than great.” Felicity wrinkles her nose. “You’re my best friend. I can call you that, right?”

“You literally took a knife for me tonight. I think that’s automatic best friend tier.”

“Aww.” Felicity finally lets go and wriggles backward, Laurel watching her to make sure she doesn’t pull any of the stitches. The hospital gave them scrubs since her dress was ruined (Laurel’s pretty sure Oliver may have dropped some hints about past Queen family donations to make that happen), so Laurel’s not even going to bother her about changing. The scrubs will be comfortable enough to sleep in. “Best friends tell each other about secret girlfriends, though.”

“I would if I had one,” Laurel says, tugging off Felicity’s flip flops. “But all I have is a nosy neighbor who can’t mind his own business and thinks that Thea and I were a thing. God. She’s like my sister.”

“I could ruin his credit score for you,” Felicity says, snuggling into the pillows.

“That’s sweet, but I’ll pass.”

“Just saying. A service I offer my best friends. Especially the ones that smell good.”

“Consider me grateful,” Laurel says. “Just for curiosity’s sake, how much of this are you going to remember in the morning?”

“All none of it.” Felicity yawns and snuggles down when Laurel helps her with the covers. There’s a reason her team regularly calls her the mom friend, but she doesn’t mind it, if it makes their lives easier. “Let me know if I need to apologize for anything later. Painkillers make me talkative like whoa.”

“Imagine that,” Laurel says, though in truth, she’s always found Felicity’s loquaciousness charming, even while it makes others cringe. It’s fascinating insight into how Felicity’s mind works, and Laurel adores her friend, even in the moments when Felicity does stupidly brave things like take a knife for her, the idiot. She brushes some of Felicity’s hair back. “Get some sleep. I’ll help you change that bandage in the morning.”

“I look forward to it.” The words are broken up by another yawn as Felicity burrows under the blankets. She peeks out so that only her eyes are visible, though Laurel can see them drifting closed. “Oh hey, about that secret girlfriend thing—”

“There is no secret girlfriend.”

“I know that,” Felicity says, eyes still closed. “But if you change your mind and decide you do want one, just, you know, let me know. I’m a great secret girlfriend.”

Laurel stays frozen by the door, blinking rapidly. “What are you—does that mean what I think it means?” she asks.

Her only answer is Felicity’s soft, steady breathing.

* * *

Given that getting stabbed was in no way part of Operation: Woo Laurel Lance, Felicity can safely say her plan has gone completely awry. She hadn’t even stopped to consider it. She’d only seen the knife and Laurel’s turned back and had thrown herself between her teammate and the trouble. Coincidentally the same thing she’s done for Laurel’s sister before, and now Felicity has enough empirical evidence to say that getting stabbed—more like sliced, really—sucks way more than getting shot, and it’s going to leave a bigger scar.

And the worst part is that Laurel seemed more annoyed than impressed.

Not that Felicity’s looking for that. She definitely didn’t throw herself in front of a knife to show off for the woman she’s been crushing on for months. Nope. Even she’s not that foolish. It was instinct.

But a little bit of worship wouldn’t go unappreciated, really.

Instead, Laurel gives her a guarded look when Felicity stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, having slept on Thea’s old bed. Their friend, now safely at college and away from this vigilante nonsense, won’t mind. Felicity didn’t even bleed on the mattress. She’s a considerate house guest that way.

“How do you feel?” Laurel asks, her tone almost accusatory.

“Like I got stabbed. Way don’t recommend that, by the way. Major ouch.”

Laurel’s face softens fractionally. “But you’re doing okay?”

“Less bad. I’ll need some drugs soon.”

“Do you remember anything that happened after the stabbing?”

She has patches of memory, but those were some serious drugs. Are some serious drugs—she’s up for a new round, as the building ache in her side is definitely telling her. “Not really. Everything’s fuzzy. There was somebody with a funny hat?”

“You met my neighbor.”

“Was he nice?”

“You threatened to ruin his credit score.”

“Huh.” That sounds like something she’d do. Felicity feels faded and wan and close to death, which isn’t fair because Laurel’s hair is perfect and she’s in workout clothes from her morning run. It should be illegal for her to wear sleeveless shirts anywhere in the vicinity of places Felicity needs to concentrate. Felicity tears her eyes away from them and picks disinterestedly at the instant oatmeal Laurel sets in front of her. “So how much do I have to apologize for?”

“Nothing.”

“I was on heavy-duty painkillers and I said nothing embarrassing? Nothing?”

“Nothing that you need to apologize for,” Laurel says, but there’s a catch in her voice that has Felicity looking up in suspicion. Laurel has a mug of tea in front of her, the tip of her thumb tracing up and down its handle.

“What _did_ I say?” Felicity asks, her stomach sinking.

“Well, you think I smell nice, you wondered if lawyer is a verb, in the car you sang along with every word of a Bell Biv Devoe song including the parts that were instrumental, and you were really obsessed with the idea of me having a secret girlfriend.” Laurel sips her tea and raises both eyebrows. “To the point of asking me if I wanted one, and subsequently volunteering as tribute. I think. That part’s unclear.”

It really is possible for your head to make its own horror music, Felicity discovers in that moment, her stomach dropping all the way to her knees and staying there. This was not how Operation: Woo Laurel Lance was supposed to go. There was supposed to be flirting and fun! Maybe an invite to dinner if she could get past her own babbling! Painkiller-infused come-ons (Felicity is under no illusions about what she’s like while stoned) were definitely not part of the plan.

“Oh,” is all she can say.

“I don’t want one,” Laurel says, and Felicity discovers there’s something worse than absolute mortification. If it wouldn’t hurt her healing stab wound, she’s pretty sure she’d just grab a shovel and start digging a hole in Laurel’s floor. Laurel’s her friend, not a random cute person she can hit on because of oxy. Laurel refuses to meet her eye. “I don’t want a secret girlfriend, is what I mean.”

“Right. O-of course not,” Felicity says. “I’m sorry, I way overstepped, I just really hope I didn’t actually attempt to, like, assault you—”

“A non-secret girlfriend might be nice, though,” Laurel says, and Felicity’s brain stutters to a halt.

“What?” is all she can say.

“I was thinking maybe Thursday, if you’re feeling better. Dinner? At an actual restaurant instead of the bunker. I can meet you there so you can keep my idiot nosy neighbor as something of a fever dream.” Laurel finally looks up and smiles at her. “That is, unless I was misinterpreting things.”

“N-no, you were definitely not doing that. I…” Felicity forcefully bites down on her tongue and swallows what she’s sure would have been an impressive stream of words and at least three innuendoes. Luckily, her side hurts, saving her the need to pinch herself and make sure this moment is actually happening, that she’s actually sitting at this table with Laurel actually smiling at her and asking her on a date. Felicity clears her throat and picks up her spoon, making her movements blasé. “I happen to be free Thursday. Seven o’clock?”

“Works for me.”

“You know, I was building up to asking you before we were attacked. So if we ignore the fact that you were the one who asked me out and me getting stabbed, my plan was pretty much a success,” she says before she can stop herself.

Laurel smiles and reaches over, putting her hand on top of Felicity’s. “I mean, you did volunteer to be my secret girlfriend. I think. So technically…”

“You’re such a lawyer,” Felicity says.

Laurel smiles. “Thank you.”

They smile stupidly at each other until a thought occurs to Felicity. “Just between you and me, I think I’ll skip the stabbing next time.”

“Please do.”


End file.
